


the prime directive

by encroix



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/encroix/pseuds/encroix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke eat some drugged food, all in the name of diplomacy. It's got some unforeseen effects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the prime directive

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the one, the only, the magnificent [hariboo](http://hariboo.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Title's a Star Trek reference.
> 
> Ambiguous timeline - somewhere in the future, I guess.

“What do you mean,” Bellamy began, voice rising in irritation, “they dosed the food?”

Clarke paced the small width of the tent, and forced herself to remain calm. Temper tantrums were not going to make anything better, and if he was going to insist on being emotional, the least she could do was try to remain level-headed. “One of the others saw them. He didn't tell me until after we'd eaten,” she said. “He said it's part of a – a grounder ritual. Something to do with the solstice or the season change.” 

Bellamy grunted, running a hand through his hair. “And do we know what they dosed it with? Or what it does?”

She shook her head. “We've got to get into quarantine as soon as possible.”

“Just us?” 

Stripping off her jacket, she grabbed him by the arm and began leading them upstairs to the second level of the drop-ship. “We were the only ones who ate, remember?”

“Of course,” he said. “Their special guests.”

It had been one of their attempts at diplomacy with one of the offshoot Grounder clans on the fringes of the forest. Smaller in comparison to the others they'd encountered, like Anya's, but independent and certainly more open to collaboration than anyone else they'd met in their short time on the ground.

When they met to broker the terms of the alliance, one of the leaders had gestured to a nearby table, laden with food. A ceremonial feast to eat and share between the leaders of the tribe to celebrate the arrangement. She'd initially judged the danger to have been minimal. Since the leaders were eating with them, she certainly hadn't planned on their lacing the food.

“They ate from it themselves,” she said, trying to reason it out. “It couldn't be that bad.”

He arched a brow and latched the hatch door shut.

“Because we've never seen ritual sacrifice before.”

She glared at him. “I'm trying to be –” At his glance, she shook her head. “Forget it.”

“To be?”

She tilted her head. “Understanding.”

He laughed. “Good,” he said. “That's great.” Moving towards the corner, he took a seat, peeling off his jacket and flinging it across the room. “How long are we supposed to be cooped up in here anyway?”

“Forty-eight hours,” she said. “If we don't exhibit any symptoms in forty-eight hours, I think we should be okay.” 

“You think?”

“I'm not a doctor, Bellamy. I don't know what they dosed us with, or if it's contagious, or if it's just meant to poison us. All I have is what's here.”

He shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

She chuckled. “You're not.”

He grunted in response and leaned his head back against the wall. “Forty-eight hours, huh? With you? This is going to be a long couple of days.”

“You're telling me. I didn't even bring anything to read.”

 

 

 

  

She woke up several hours later, drenched in her own sweat, to find him looking just as badly as she felt. The fever – or whatever it was – had made him sweat through his thin shirt, and his skin looked pale and clammy. She looked down at the ends of her hair, wondering how much worse the fever had made her look. As she glanced up to assess him again, he met her glance and she colored.

“It must be whatever they put in the food,” she said, pressing her hand against her forehead. “It can't be more than a low-grade fever.”

“You know anything that would cause this?”

She shrugged. “Any kind of bacterial infection could cause a temperature spike like this. I don't know. You haven't had any pain, have you? Muscle cramps or stomach or chest pain?”

He shook his head. “Just this. It feels like a thousand degrees in here.” He peeled his shirt off and threw it in the direction of his jacket.

She felt her mouth go dry and pointed at one of the canteens they'd brought up. Reaching for it, he tossed it over to her and she downed several gulps, hoping to settle the odd feeling in her stomach and cool her down. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when she'd finished, she threw it back to him.

“You should have some too,” she said. “It's important we stay hydrated. Especially since we're losing so much water in sweat.”

He made a show of removing the cap before taking a few small swallows. Probably just to get her to stop asking.

“You think whatever they gave us is strong enough to kill us?”

“I don't know,” she said. “It's possible.”

He chuckled. “Earth,” he said. “The final frontier.”

She managed a smile.

 

 

 

 

As the hours went by, his fever worsened. Much more than hers had. Not that hers was any more comfortable. Though she'd been unable to sleep and kept managing small sips of water here and there, he'd passed into a shallow sleep, restless and delirious. For the better part of a half an hour, he'd been mumbling half-sentences and words that weren't words, and her head was beginning to ache.

Anything could be the cause of their difference in reactions – improper dosages, their weight differences, muscle mass, food and water intake – but she had no way of identifying the source. Didn't have enough time. Or resources. Not when what was happening to him might well be affecting her in a few hours.

He groaned in his sleep again, shifting onto his side, and she approached him with the canteen, splashing water against his forehead and trying to wake him.

“Bellamy,” she said, giving him a light shake, “Wake up. You haven't had water in a while.”

He roused, looking disoriented as he blinked at her and tried to sit up. She tilted the canteen against his mouth and poured slowly, hoping he'd be able to get it down.

“You need water,” she said, brushing her hand against his hair.

He braced his hand against the grating and tried to push himself up to sitting upright, wincing with the effort. Her hand brushed his as she tried to help him, and a strong wave of heat rushed over her as goosebumps rose on her arms. Her headache worsened, her pulse beating painfully in time with it beneath her skin. When she opened her eyes again, his gaze was studying hers, his pupils blown wide, drawing his eyes dark.

“Clarke,” he said, voice nearly at a rasp. “Are you all right?”

She jerked her hand away, growing lightheaded, and winced. “Oh, no,” she said.

“Clarke,” he said. “What the hell is it?” He reached up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into his touch despite herself. God, it felt so good – the warmth of his hand, the roughness of his skin. Him. _He_ felt good. Smelled good. She wondered if he tasted as good as he – no, she definitely did not just have that thought.

His hand slid down her face to her neck, thumb ghosting across her pulse point, and she bit down hard against her bottom lip with a soft grunt. His eyes were sharp, never moving from her face.

“Wait,” she said, skittering back away from him a few steps. “Wait, wait. We have to think about this.”

“It doesn't hurt,” he said, “when I'm – when we're touching.”

“We have to fight it,” she said, taking a deep breath. “You have to fight it, Bellamy. It'll pass.”

He shifted back against the wall again with great effort, leaning his head back against it, panting. “How do you know that?”

She glanced at his mouth as he spoke, following it down to the anxious bob of his adam's apple as he tried to catch his breath, and felt herself flush. God, all she wanted to do was strip off the rest of her clothes and drench herself in the rest of their water. Not that that would make her feel any cooler.

“Everything works its way out of your system if you just wait long enough,” she said. “We digested it, so it shouldn't take longer than two days.”

He coughed a laugh. “You think we'll make it?”

“What are our other options?” she snapped.

“Well,” he began.

She clicked her tongue. “Stop it.”

“I told you we should have never trusted those people.”

“Try to sleep, all right?” she said. “It should help.”

 

 

 

 

The longer it went, the more she began to feel the effects as well. Her head now pounded with a persistent headache and her fever didn't seem to be going away or weakening. And no matter how much she thought herself crazy for even hypothesizing about what she was starting to imagine was the only cure, it didn't change the fact that every time she looked at him, her fever seemed to spike.

“Clarke!” he said, and she jerked awake. “I've been calling your name for a while now.”

She hummed, and he gestured to the canteen at her feet. “You need to get some water.”

“What time is it?” she said.

He shrugged. “Still dark out. I think.”

She took a few sips from the canteen before setting it aside. He grunted as he moved onto his hands and knees and began to crawl over.

“Are you hurt?”

“Whatever this thing is,” he said, moving to sit beside her, “I don't think that it's going to pass alone. I think we'll have to... get through it together.”

They certainly didn't teach _this_ in Earth Skills, though she wasn't sure how such a lesson could even be conducted. She knew what he was asking, knew how absurd it was, and yet, believed it because nothing else seemed to make the fevers break except for touch. He took her hand, and she shuddered in spite of herself, feeling the hard beat of her pulse quicken. He leaned down to rest his head against her shoulder, and she sighed. “Bellamy,” she said, nearly a whisper. “I don't think this is a good idea.”

He nuzzled his face against her neck, brushing his lips against her skin, and she forced herself to remain composed, even as her grip tightened on his hand. She wanted to draw him closer, to feel his weight against her body, to taste him. “We don't have any better ones,” he murmured against her shoulder. “Sometimes bad ideas are the only ideas.”

She whimpered as she ran her hand along his shoulders, against the rippling muscles of his back. “You're very warm,” she said.

His hand brushed her cheek in answer and she leaned into his touch. “So are you.” His face leaned closer, seeming to hover nearer to her own, but she could feel the tension of his muscles under her hand, could feel his struggle to remain in control. That was Bellamy – a control freak, even under the influence.

“Okay,” she said, setting her hands on his shoulders. “Okay.” 

She gently pushed him away before reaching to pull her shirt over her head. He sucked in a breath, a loud, desperate noise, and when she brushed the hair out of her face and looked at him, she felt a small thrill at seeing the quick movements of his jaw working as he tried to remain calm. At how much she affected him.

“Are you okay with this?” he said.

She leaned in and kissed him in response, opening her mouth and drawing him in. His fingers dug into the muscle of her back as he returned the kiss, and her entire body pulsed with anticipation. She hadn't realized just how much she'd been waiting for this, although her body certainly had.

“It feels so good to touch you,” she said, clambering onto his lap. She could feel the length of his hardness beneath her and as she shifted her hips over him, delicious friction shot straight to her core. His teeth nipped at her neck and she rolled her hips again, grinning as he scowled against her collarbone. “God, Bellamy.”

He reached to unclasp her bra, his mouth pressing against her sternum with hot kisses as he pulled it free and tossed it aside. She felt hypersensitive to his touch, her body reacting more intensely than she had thought possible. Her skin felt overheated between the fever and their shared body heat, and there was an urgency that made her skin itch. Desperate to get to his bare skin, desperate to get to him. Desperate for him inside of her. His mouth dragged from her sternum to her breasts, and she grunted as he took one in his mouth. He smirked and she felt the motion along her skin,digging her nails hard against his shoulder as he flicked his tongue against her nipple.

Her hands worked into his hair, jerking his head back to her level as she reached down to kiss him. As she leaned down, her hair draped over his face as her mouth moved against his, her tongue licking at his lips sloppily as he arched up to meet her.

Pushing herself off of him, she reached for the button of his pants.

“Clarke,” he said, panting.

“Shh,” she replied, “Just – I need – we need this. I need you.”

The noise of the zipper seemed overly loud in the small space and he obliged in lifting his hips as she pulled his pants and boxers down to his ankles and off. He was fully naked now, and she took the opportunity to run her gaze down his form.

“Enjoying the view?” he cracked, and she glared at him.

“Shut up,” she said, taking him in her hand, and stroking him lightly.

“ _Fuck_ _,”_ he groaned, his hips canting up to meet her touch.

“You're so warm. So warm.” Her hand kept stroking his length, and he grunted as he set his hand on hers to still her.

Reaching behind her, he grabbed his earlier-discarded shirt and laid it down behind her. Moving to kiss her again, she let him ease her down against the floor. His mouth was hot as it brushed against the shell of her ear, her neck, the hollow of her throat, and she wanted it everywhere all at once. She tugged at his hair and kissed him hard, her mouth demanding against his as his hand worked to unbutton her pants.

“Your turn,” he said, shifting down to pull her pants free before tossing them aside. He grasped her ankle then, brushing his thumb against the jut of bone. “You know how often I think about your legs?” He punctuated his question with hot kisses against her calves. The insides of her knees.Her thighs.

His hair brushed against her as he moved, feather-light and quick, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her body ached for him – for his mouth, his fingers, his cock – and she couldn't wait. He didn't seem to get the message, continuing to lay soft kisses inch by inch along her legs.

“Hurry up,” she said, and he chuckled, the noise vibrating against her. When she groaned, she could feel his answering smile against her skin.

“You like that?”

His fingers brushed against her, gently teasing, and she sighed, trying to shift her hips closer, to draw his fingers in.

“You're so wet,” he said, thumb circling her slowly, and she gasped, body shuddering to meet him. He slowed then, moving to brush against other parts of her, before returning to circle her clit. He repeated the rhythm, letting the pleasure build to frustration, until she felt like killing him.

“Stop fucking around,” she growled, and he sunk two fingers inside her to the knuckle, as she whimpered and ground her hips needily against his hand.

“And you wanted to wait,” he said. His fingers pumped in and out of her, her head knocking a cadence against the floor as he sped up his pace. When he curled his fingers deep inside of her, she reached for any part of him that she could touch. Her breaths grew shallow and she could feel it, how close she was, how the tension in her belly seemed to hit its peak.

“Bellamy,” she moaned, as he slowed his pace.

He removed his fingers, gripping her thighs with his hands, as he pressed his mouth to her cunt. She could still feel the wetness – _her_ wetness – from his hands against her skin.

“Fuck,” she moaned, as the flat of his tongue laid stroke after stroke against her. She brought her hand to her mouth, digging her teeth in to keep from crying out when he stopped. “Bellamy, I'm going to fucking kill you.”

“I want to hear you,” he said, voice deep and ragged as a growl. “Let me hear you.”

Her hips seemed to tic up towards his voice, and she blushed, moving her hand aside.

He ducked his head between her thighs again, the point of his tongue circling her clit, and she heard herself calling his name, hips bucking up to meet his mouth. She couldn't remember feeling like this in so long – her nerves on fire, every thought second to her need, her mind incapable of any other thoughts – and her hand moved to his hair, to hold him to the spot where she wanted him.

He flicked his tongue against her over and over again and her muscles clenched, her hips rocking against him as she came.

Kissing the insides of her thighs, he brushed his thumb against her hip as she gradually came down.

“You all right?” he said.

“Fine,” she said, reaching for his arm and pulling him up to meet her. Her hand brushed the damp hair away from his forehead, and she could feel his length brushing against her.

She waited for him to move, to do something, but he just... waited.

She blinked up at him, her hand lifting to brush against the line of his jaw.

“Are you – are you really okay with this?” he said.

Her body felt cooler now, the urgent demand in her skin dying down. His eyes were still dark, but calmer. She knew that the chemical – hormone, whatever – was still working its way through their systems, but part of her knew that this was different. He was asking her what she wanted, not just what she needed, and she brushed her hand against his cheek.

She let out a shaky breath and pulled him down for a kiss.His forehead rested against hers as he pulled away, and she felt the sharp breaths he took as he waited for her answer. “Yes,” she said. “I'm good.”

He reached down between them to guide himself, pushing into her slowly, his face carefully watching hers for any signs of pain. She bit down a gasp at the feel of him inside of her, her muscles tensing as they tried to adjust to him. Leaning down to bite gently against her shoulder, he murmured something against her skin.

She sighed as he pushed completely into her, stilling for a moment to give her body time to adjust. “I'm okay,” she said. “I'm – I'm fine.” Digging her heel against the back of his thigh to prove her point, she ground her hips against his, spurring him to move.

He went slow at first, pulling out nearly completely before sinking back in, but they soon managed to find a rhythm. Her head lolled back against the floor as his pace began to quicken, hips knocking against hers roughly with each thrust. She groaned, trying to meet him for every movement, and everything else seemed to fade into this one moment, into just him and her and their bodies. All she could hear was the noise of their ragged breathing, the blood roaring in her ears, the soft, low cadence of his breathing. He looked to her for permission then, as he braced his hands on either side of her, nuzzling his mouth down against her shoulder. “Faster,” she murmured, “ _Please_.”

He drove into her then, hard and fast, his mouth moving to brush against the tops of her breasts.

She moaned his name, her nails digging welts into the blades of his shoulders as the familiar tension returned. His teeth bit down into the flesh of her shoulder, and she leaned up to suck against the hollow of his throat in retaliation.He grunted, his jaw clenching as he reached down with his hand to rub at her. She didn't know how close he was to finishing – didn't really care, either – but the rough touch of his callused fingers against her was already bringing her back up to the edge.

He was waiting for her, she realized. He wanted to make sure that she got to finish if he did. Opening her eyes, she caught his expression as his thumb brushed against her – his eyes dark, hair matted down against his face, the freckles on his cheeks barely visible in the light. _C'mon, princess_ , he said, or she imagined, but the quiet noise of him urging her on was enough to push her over the edge.

“Fuck,” she called. “Fuck, fuck, Bellamy...” Her head knocked against the ground as her muscles tightened around him, and he followed near immediately, collapsing onto his forearms.

She panted, feeling the rhythm of his breathing against her own body. His weight bore down on her, but it wasn't quite unpleasant; it was a reminder that they were still here, that they were together. Connected, still. Sometimes it was hard for her to forget just how long they'd been down on the ground, just how long they had been relying on each other. For safety, security, leadership. Comfort, too, though she supposed this would have to qualify as something a little further than that.

The two of them had done a fair job, anyway. At least they'd managed to keep a good proportion of their people alive, involvement in the war notwithstanding. She reached her hand up to tangle in his hair, and felt him tense. Her fingers brushed against his scalp lightly, and she gradually felt him begin to relax.

“I think maybe that was what we needed to do,” she said, coloring when he shot her a wry look in answer. “For the – for whatever they drugged us with.”

He hummed, drawing himself out of her and rolling onto his back. They settled into quiet, and she shivered. Her fever had broken, and the cold sweat that had broken out was beginning to evaporate.Moving closer, he drew her body flush against him.

At her look, he added, “Body heat. Until we can find some blankets.”

She sighed, closing her eyes. Between the induced illness and their little... exercise, she felt exhausted. Pleasantly so. “Mmhmm,” she replied. “We should be all right to go back to camp tomorrow. There's still lots to do.”

Another stretch of silence, and she could feel his smirk as he said, “Maybe we're still contagious.”

She knocked her hand against his chest. “Stop it.”

“You know,” he said, as she stifled a yawn, “if all diplomatic missions were like this, I'd sign up for more of them.”

“You?” she said, letting her eyes fall shut for a moment. “Mr. Shoot First, Ask Questions Later?”

“I'm very reasonable,” he deadpanned.

She snorted in response. His fingers drifted lazily over the bare skin of her shoulder.

“You should sleep.”

“I'm fine,” she mumbled, nuzzling back against him.

 

 

 

 

In the morning, left by the outside gates, were four large baskets full of food, with a single note about bearing fruit from the union of the harvest gods.

After they'd retrieved the baskets and reviewed the note, Clarke shot him a glance.

“You think if we did that more often, we wouldn't need to forage so much?” he said.

She snatched the note out of his hand. “Bellamy." 

He smirked, reaching into the basket. “Here,” he said, tossing her an apple. “If it's the fruit of our labor, we might as well have first pick, right?”

She rolled her eyes, taking the other basket, and beginning the walk back into camp.


End file.
